Trophy
by RebelGeneral
Summary: Ned Low wasn't the first to meet his end for the same reason. A drabble for Backstory Month looking into how Charles came to be in the possession of the leather choker around his neck with metal spikes. A meaningful object from the past :)


He never went to such lengths, at least not since a long time. This was his first after disembarking on the shores of Nassau. There had been a time when he had paid this amount of attention to a task, been as vigilant as a tiger circling its prey, taking in and memorizing each strength and weakness of his opponent to ultimately be used to his own advantage. And he could be patient. A year of planning his escape had born fruit and that was a lesson he forged his life upon henceforth. No detail was too minute, no possibility discarded. Charles relished in the wait like a starved predator, each moment drawing him closer and closer to fulfillment, but taking no action until that very precise moment in time where it would not just complete his purpose but have the utmost effect.

His task was simple and if he was being honest with himself, he had no recollection when his mind had conjured up this mission for himself. He was merely aware of the need to see it through which grew soundly with time and consumed his every thought and action. Perhaps it had been that day at the tavern, with him drinking to his hearts content at the Guthrie establishment with Jack, when a _certain_ man, if you could call him that, had grabbed a _certain_ blonde forcing her promptly on his lap until, as Charles had expected, a smack on his face caught him unawares giving her the opportunity to scramble herself up and run off shouting curses on pirates in her wake. It wasn't something extraordinary to happen since every pirate _had_ been drunk enough to at least attempt this at some point and she _was_ rather a pretty one. Eleanor had her way of dealing with them just like she had a way with everything else. A threat or two involving her father usually did the trick, pirates never being thick enough to disregard the importance of business. Either that or the meek ones would usually flinch under her stern countenance, never daring to repeat the same mistake.

So the fact that this happened didn't startle Charles. What _did_ catch his attention, however, was the look on the man's face as he watched Eleanor scurry off. This one didn't seem to be one to take public humiliation lightly, by the hands of a teenage girl at that. As Charles observed him stroke his cheek, eyes fixed on the now vacant space where Eleanor had stood, gaze dripping with contempt and spite, he knew this one was going to be trouble.

Perhaps it was that very day he'd set aside everything else, focusing solely on this beast of a man. Rolf was his name, and as the gossip had it, one of the most feared captains of Tortuga who'd recently shown interest in expanding his crew using the strong of Nassau; a towering man well into his thirties, with arms the size of logs and a countenance that set folks steering clear of his path. With his menacing form and bald head, he strangely reminded Charles of another man from his past, equally detestable, although to be fair, Albinus had preferred boys and young ones at that. Rolf's reputation enabled him to garner a few recruits, although the process hadn't gone entirely uneventful. A few fights had emerged, and as Charles watched, Rolf marked each victory against a worthy opponent. Taking a sharp metal spike, he stroked his bald head with the blood of the fallen before him, finally taking it and wrapping it carefully around a leather strap around his neck. By now, his head was a maze of scars and the choker heavy with spikes.

Charles began to watch him like a hawk. He could be a cautious man if he wanted to achieve an end bad enough. And _this_? This called for it. He wasn't one to take threats to himself lightly, much less so if it involved a certain blonde. With each passing day as his rage boiled hotter and hotter his need for blood grew stronger. The need to show Nassau that nobody fucks with her without _him_ having a say about it.

As he studied him, Rolf studied Eleanor, who, Charles felt, could sense the man's attention well enough because her demeanor became excessively more vigilant and authoritative. A power play, no doubt, in hopes that her position in this place would be sufficient to dissuade this one. It was only a matter of time before he made a move against Eleanor. Although she had increased her guard in the tavern by around four men, it was pointless to remind her that in the case of pirates and crews, that was never enough. She knew he was watching Rolf too, he'd caught her shifting glances between the two of them, but he was well aware that if approached, she would refuse his help. _I don't need your protection_ , he could already hear her words in his head. Rolling his eyes, he knew there was but one end to this. And if Eleanor kept waiting to administer it, he was going to lose patience and do it himself no matter what the consequences. Only Jack could sense his tense demeanor every time Rolf ventured near. But Jack was well versed in such matters and never probed him about his course of action regarding this. After all, having spent a few years in Charles's company left little to imagination what the ultimate solution to this would be...

It happened early morning as Eleanor left his tent after their nightly interludes, and as per ritual, he followed her to a safer distance than usual, his eyes scanning and registering every movement around. Everything was a blur as soon as the man himself appeared in front, blocking her path. Screams muffled as his arm stifled her mouth, carrying a biting, thrashing Eleanor to the recluse of trees.

Charles was on him like a panther. What he couldn't match with size, he made up by speed and rage. He wrestled the man to the ground after a few sharp blows until Rolf was left pinned. Charles thrust his fingers into his eyes forcefully, mustering all his strength into this one move. The man squirmed and resisted in agony under him but he didn't stop until the body grew limp. He could feel the squashed mass under his fingers, a river of blood gushing from his hands as he removed them from Rolf's skull. He had left two gaping holes on the man's wretched face and if it wasn't for the squirting blood, he was certain the man's brains would be spilling out.

Breathless and covered in blood and wounds, he picked himself up and met Eleanor's eyes. He must have looked something from another world altogether because she didn't speak. And it was a rare occasion indeed when Eleanor Guthrie was at a loss for words.

" _Return to the tavern before his men find you here_."

And with that he was gone.

He hadn't slept so peacefully in days and when he woke, he could already hear the ruckus outside. The body must have been discovered by now and he hoped Eleanor had been smart enough to remove herself in time, despite the shock the event had left her in. Emerging from his tent, he was soon aware of all eyes fixed upon him. With good reason too considering he hadn't bothered washing up Rolf's blood from his body before dozing off. He heard Jack call for the cabin boy, who brought Charles some sponge and water. Eyeing Jack incredulously, he let the boy clean him up, before deciding it was time to head to the warehouse to check on the Ranger's accounts and inquire about leads.

At least that's what he told himself.

Even before he reached, he could see the bright golden head perched near the warehouse, shouting orders left right and center, her voice sharper than ever. Charles smiled as he ventured closer, and soon enough, she turned to face him. With so many around them he didn't expect much from her, save for a smirk that was bound to make its way on her ravishing lips. He certainly didn't expect the _relief was it?_ that greeted him from her look.

Despite the number of eyes upon them, she procured something from her pocket and slid it carefully around his neck.

" _Marked the last spike myself with his own blood_ ," she whispered, face dangerously close to his ear. For a second, Charles wondered how much admonishment she would be in store for by the look on Mr Scott's face as this exchange happened.

 _"Figured you'd fancy it_ ," her fingers fondled his hair as she tied the knot behind his neck, arm sliding off reluctantly after.

Of all the things Charles had imagined regarding her reaction to open murder, this was the furthest from it. Far from discreet, he was owning up to it, and there wasn't a single person on these shores in doubt of what exactly had been Rolf's fate. From his connection with Eleanor, Rolf's not so subtle interest in her, the manner in which his body was discovered and undoubtedly, Charles's blood soaked body, it was clear that he'd met his end at the hands of the Ranger's captain. He was certain this trophy she'd made for him wasn't the only thing she had in mind. Her silence after he'd slaughtered Rolf in front of her was now replaced by a wild hunger only too evident in her eyes. He doubted either of them would last the day before colliding together in a flash of bruising kisses and urgent thrusts.

For now, he pranced inside the tavern smugly, part of the Ranger crew following close behind. The few men loyal to Rolf swallowed hard at the leather choker on display, covered afresh with their Captain's blood this time and Charles looked at them intently. _Daringly_. An open invitation to challenge him if seeking vengeance is what they sought.

In a moment of good judgement, the crew swiftly sailed back to Tortuga at first light.


End file.
